


Breadmaker

by elfenphoenix



Series: Therilli Lavellan [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullen stress bakes, F/M, Idk what do you want me to say it's a fluff drabble, So here we are, We were uncertain of Cullen, based exclusively on whether they knew how to cook, based on a convo with my friends, based on my personal DAO playthrough, came into mind, muttering to himself about troop placements, shortly after reaching Haven, until the image of Cullen covered in flour, where all mages and elves died fighting the Archdemon, where we evaluated each major DA character, which influences the Inquisitor's history.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:08:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22314556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfenphoenix/pseuds/elfenphoenix
Summary: The Inquisitor discovers, on a sleepless night shortly after reaching Skyhold, that strong, dependable, strict Commander Cullen Rutherford...stress bakes.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Series: Therilli Lavellan [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1606168
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Breadmaker

The journey from Haven to Skyhold had been chaotic and exhausting, and for many nights after the Inquisition’s arrival in the fortress it remained that way. It had been as if the place never slept. Torches had glowed on the battlements through each moon’s rise and fall as the Inquisition’s forces hurried to repair the crumbled parts of otherwise surprisingly sturdy fortress walls. With Haven’s violent destruction fresh in their minds, the pace of rebuilding had been feverish. Skyhold _must_ stand against Corypheus.

But tonight, when Inquisitor Therilli Lavellan awoke, the fortress was quiet and the battlements were dark. The night watch still patrolled, she could tell from the distant, rhythmic scratch of their armored boots against the stone, but with the outer walls, at least, repaired, they were lit only by moonlight. Against a nighttime attack, darkness was protection.

Not that any of those things comforted the Inquisitor’s racing heartbeat now. In her dreams she had seen the red eyes of corrupted lyrium-crazed Templars, first in the faces of strangers, and then in the familiar visages of her own men. She had heard the voice of a woman shrieking for her to run, to warn the others, saw the shifting green light of the Breach blast first Haven, then Skyhold, apart.

Traces of those images still played through her mind after she bolted awake, twisting at the edge of her vision even as she looked around at the relative quiet of her well-furnished room.

Knowing that the nightmares would continue to deny her rest, Therilli slipped out of bed and down the stairs out of her room, cringing a bit as her door creaked open.

She didn’t really know what she planned to do, didn’t have a destination in mind. Perhaps just wander through the fortress to ground her unsteady mind in the dirt and stone of Skyhold. Not the horse-trampled snow and mud of Haven, certainly not the Halla and trees of her clan’s camps.

Fortunately, despite Therilli’s lack of sneaking skills, the castle’s population remained sound asleep, even as she drifted idly through the grand hall, still hearing the contracted dwarven stonemasons’ snores as she passed through the main doors and out into the courtyard.

She shivered against the night’s chill, regretting not changing out of her nightclothes-- even her armor was lined and thus insulated by bear hide. But she still felt too out of place in that grand bedroom to be ready to return to it so quickly.

So she merely squared her shoulders against the cold and continued wandering through the courtyard, only recently cleared of mountain snow. It was barren and dreary, driving her to wonder if perhaps she should go to the garden instead. It was of course still a work in progress, like all else, overgrown with mountain weeds, but it felt more like the wilds upon which her clan eked out their living than any other part of this human-filled fortress. 

She resolved to go there next after she drifted over to the stables, evaluating the Ferelden horses in their stalls, glad for their stalwart nature. She hadn’t been sure so many would survive the mountain trek to Skyhold. They were, after all, not Halla. But whatever they lacked in sure-footedness, they certainly made up for with resilience.

Most of them, too, were asleep, though on their feet. Her own horse nickered at her as she approached, but quieted as soon as she began stroking her forehead. Satisfied with its safety, the beast closed its eyes and quickly drifted back to sleep.

Shivering again, she turned back to the inner keep of SKyhold, trying to determine how best to return to the gardens from there. Annoyingly, there didn’t seem to be a _direct_ way to it from the courtyard, unless she felt like scaling the walls. Which she _could_ do, but…

Was that a light?

She stopped in her scanning of the walls to squint at the warm orange glow peeking out from under a door tucked into a corner of the building, up a forgettable flight of stone stairs.

 _That’s… the kitchen, isn’t it?_ She wondered, her feet already carrying her toward it. _Does the cook really begin preparations so early?_

But no, that couldn’t be right. She was certain she’d overheard some soldiers complaining that the cook was a late riser and many had had to begin their patrols without breakfast. So then who--?

Gently she pulled the door open, taking in the scene a little at a time before it all registered:

The warm glow of the lit torch. The crates of fruit delivered only the day before. The three ovens, all already fired up and exuding the mouth-watering scent of baking bread into the room.

And the man in the center of it all, focused so entirely on his task that he hadn’t noticed Therilli enter. His ever-present armor was dusted thoroughly with flour, as well as much of the central table, and all the while he worked the dough through his scarred fingers, he was muttering to himself.

“Shouldn’t need to worry about the east because there’s a steep cliff face. But I can’t concentrate too much elsewhere because a cliff won’t stop a _dragon._ Then again, neither will soldiers. Archers, then. Do we have enough archers? And there should be patrolls posted along the path to ensure the safety of any refugees or ambassadors making their way to…”

He paused in his muttering to wipe a nervous hand across his forehead, leaving an endearing streak of flour in his wake, some drifting into his blond hair.

Finally, Therilli found her voice again.

“Commander Cullen?”

He stopped his muttering mid-sentence, the lump of dough he’d been working with his hands falling onto the table with a sound midway between a splat and a thump.

“Inquisitor! I-- you-- what… are you doing awake?!”

“I could ask the same of you,” Therilli replied, fighting back the grin spreading across her face and moving over to sit atop one of the counters across the table from him, scooping up an apple as she did so. “I didn’t know you could bake.”

His face was growing more and more deeply pink with each passing moment, threatening to reach the tips of his ears. “I… well, I have a great deal of work to do… and the soldiers need feeding, so I thought…”

He seemed to notice her doubtful expression and deflated, looking down at his work. “I… often struggle to sleep. Nightmares, of… things that have happened. This has… always helped me relax.” He bit his lip, wiping his forehead again, which only increased, rather than removed, the flour on his face.

Therilli frowned, taking a bite of the apple and watching his hands work the dough with renewed fervor under her gaze. For a while, the crunch of the apple between her teeth and the roar of the ovens were the only sounds in the room before Cullen finally added, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

Therilli snorted, momentarily causing her to choke on the apple piece, coughing a moment to dislodge it before collecting herself. “First of all, Leliana likely already knows. She must. Second, I don’t think it’s anything to be ashamed of. It’s a skill, like any other. And… it’s kind of you. You genuinely care for your men.”

He looked up, considering her for a moment, a trace of a smile drifting across his lips before he picked up the lump of dough and placed it on a tray, which then went into an oven. When he turned back, his shoulders seemed to have relaxed a bit from when she had first entered. He moved around the table toward her, leaning against the counter next to her as he regarded the mess he’d made of the kitchen.

“And you? You never answered me. What keeps you awake tonight?”

Therilli shrugged, kicking her legs in front of her, speaking around bites of apple. “Much the same. Nightmares. Memories. Nothing in this place is familiar enough to feel like much of a comfort.”

Cullen coughed a laugh, which surprised Therilli enough to glance down at him curiously.

“Sorry, I… hadn’t considered nightmares to be something that could bother you. You are so… fearless.”

“I’m sure most people think the same of you,” Therilli replied. “How could their strong, stoic, disciplined, dependable commander fear anything? Except Cassandra. Only a fool is unafraid of Cassandra.”

At this the corners of his lips turned upwards again, only momentarily before he looked down at his arms crossed in front of him. 

“And you? Did you think me fearless?”

“Of course not. No fearless man would spend so much time preparing his troops that he doesn’t sleep. Fear is healthy. It keeps us safe.”

“It can be unreasonable, though. Too much fear can make people do… terrible things. I’ve seen it myself. _Done_ it myself. More times than I’d care to recount.”

Therilli looked down at his expression, knowing --from what she’d heard in whispers through the humans about how the Commander had seen much of the worst of recent history-- that his words were absolutely true, though she did not know the details of them. She did not need to. One glance into that man’s eyes and she saw enough pain to cripple an army. Yet here he stood, baking bread for one. He was truly a much stronger man than he gave himself credit for.

She hopped down from the counter, setting her apple core where she had been sitting to be disposed of later. She moved over to the table where the baking implements had been spread out.

“I suppose, since I’m here, I should help you bake, but… I’m afraid I’ve never made human bread before. Dalish bread is quite simple-- more of a biscuit really. We make it quickly, and much at a time, to keep us fed while we travel. We… don’t have the luxury of stationary ovens.”

Cullen cracked another smile and followed her, grabbing a bowl and scooping some flour into it. “I would certainly not consider myself an expert, either. I only know what I learned to do in the Circle tower.”

“Oh? I would think making dough and commanding an army had a great deal in common.”

“Perhaps not. But it does have more to do with weapon training than people give it credit.”

“Alright, now you _must_ show me, because I find that absolutely impossible to believe.”

He chuckled a bit, then continued the process while Therilli watched, imitating his every move. For a while they did this, working in comfortable silence until each had a sticky lump of dough on the flour-coated table in front of them.

“This is the best part,” Cullen muttered, grabbing the dough and smacking it hard against the table. “Excellent for taking out frustrations _without_ breaking anything.”

“Oh, that is _delightful,_ ” Therilli remarked, taking hold of the dough and swinging it down against the table with all her might.

The resulting crash sent both of their bowls into the air, then rattling onto the ground. Thankfully, they were empty, but still, perhaps she had used a _bit_ too much strength.

Cullen laughed, a full, open sound that spread easily across the space between them, even as he leaned down to retrieve the fallen bowls. It was a lovely sound, if reluctant. He seemed as surprised by it as Therilli was.

“You certainly _are_ stronger than you look, Inquisitor. I almost pity Corypheus for drawing your ire.”

“Almost, but not quite.” Her face was growing quite red now. “And what do you _mean,_ ‘stronger than I look?’ I’m a warrior, after all.”

“I apologize, I did not mean to underestimate your abilities. I simply have not met many elves who fight with anything but magic or a bow and arrow. Well, I have met _one_ , but he was… unusual in many ways. And not Dalish."

Therilli began kneading the dough a bit gentler this time, but still with plenty of force, her brow furrowed in concentration. 

“It’s true, my people are not known for their use of the sword and shield. I am unusual in that respect, yes.”

“Do you know why?” he asked, beginning to work his own dough.

She shrugged. “Many reasons, I suppose. After the failure of the Emerald Knights to protect our new homeland, perhaps being a fighter was… embarrassing. That, and swords are for fighting enemies; bows are for hunting food. For my people, if the enemy is close enough to be fought with a sword, it is already too late.”

She scrunched up her face again, slapping the dough against the table. “We are a people of cowards. But it has kept us alive, such as we are. Perhaps that is why I do not begrudge anyone their fear. Let alone yours.”

Cullen went silent, focusing on the dough under his fingers before he swung it down against the table again, grimacing. “Fear is a poison in Thedas now. One to which it seems you are the only remedy,” he replied, glancing at her for just a moment before looking back down at his dough.

Therilli stopped kneading, looking at him directly. “Am I the remedy to _your_ fear?”

For a long time, he didn’t answer, continuing to knead the dough in silence. Then, finally: “perhaps.”

Smiling a bit to herself, Therilli swung her own dough once again against the table. “Then I suppose I should apologize.”

“For what?”

“For choosing the mages. I know they make you uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?! _You_ are the one who went into the future. You saw for yourself what magic can do! You were in such danger and pain and I--” 

He cut himself off, grabbing the lump of dough and slapping it down onto another baking tray, trying again to speak as he slid it into the oven. “And a mage brought you back, I know. I have been unfair-- even cruel-- to mages in the past. My time in Kirkwall taught me that much. But that much power… after they betrayed their own countries to be slaves to _Tevinter_ … you still trusted them enough to treat them as equals. Allies. You are… much more forgiving than I could be.”

Therilli went quiet for a while, thinking. Kneading.

“I’ve… never told you much about myself, have I?” She paused, moving her own dough over to the baking tray and into the oven, removing one of the loaves that Cullen had placed into it before she’d arrived. “You obviously know that the Hero of Ferelden used ancient treaties to gather the armies of dwarves, elves, mages, and other humans?”

“Of course,” Cullen replied, in the tone of someone wondering where she was going with this.

“But did you know that, of all those fighting alongside her, only two suffered complete casualties? Only two: the Dalish elves, and the Circle Mages.”

He froze, horror playing across his face as he realized what she was getting at. “Your people…”

“Of course, Ferelden suffered. I’m not saying it didn’t. But _some_ of the armies survived. Of all those Dalish who answered the Warden’s call… not one returned alive. My… my sister was one of them.”

She buried her hands and gaze into the flour again so that she wouldn’t have to see the pain in his face, the sympathy.

“Inquisitor, I’m… so sorry.”

She swallowed, shaking her head. “It was ten years ago. I don’t… _blame_ humans for her death. I blame the Blight, as any reasonable person should. I am only grateful to the Hero of Ferelden for bringing something of her back to me. Our Keeper told me that the Hero herself went through Denerim’s streets to account for every one of our lost people. It took some time, since they were volunteers from many scattered clans, of which ours was one of the most distant, but… we got them back. I will always be inspired by her for that.”

Tears were beginning to appear at the edges of her vision, and she impatiently blinked them away, but her voice still shook. “They tried to give me my sister’s bow. But what use do I have for it? Ever since we were children I had sworn not to chase after her Hunter’s shadow. I chose to follow Mythal, to _protect_ my people. I am a Guardian, not a Hunter. I embraced that role with new fervor after the Fifth Blight ended. Because… there are so few of us left, Commander. I must protect what remains.”

“Is that why you went to the Conclave?”

“...Yes. My clan could spare a guardsman. Not so one of our Hunters. And… what happened there would affect our people somehow, I knew. Human conflict always seems to find us, no matter how we try to avoid it. I had thought, just as my Keeper did, that perhaps if I found it first, I could get my clan out early.” She dug her hands into the mess of flour, water, and fat that she had concocted and squeezed it through her fingers. “But I can protect them better from here than even I had planned for. So perhaps I should thank Corypheus for giving me this ridiculous power.”

“I… am glad you think that way. I hesitate to think of what would have happened to the Inquisition had you not decided to stay.”

She turned to him, smiling tentatively. “I am glad I did as well.”

There was a long moment in which their gazes did not part, until Cullen finally cleared his throat and quickly turned away, running a hand through the back of his hair-- of course covering it in flour in the process. “If we continue like this, the sun will rise before we’ve gotten any sleep at all.”

“But I got the impression that is normal for you, Commander,” Therilli teased, again smacking her dough against the table.

“Maybe so, but _you_ at least should get some rest. You are too important to lack it.”

She snorted. “One night will not kill me. Besides, I am rather enjoying myself.”

“What, making bread?”

“That too.”

He blushed again, beginning to mix a new batch of dough with renewed energy. “...thank you.”

She smiled, then cleared her throat. “Anyway, to my original point-- I know that you saw some terrible things in the Ferelden Circle, though I do not know more than that. But I also know that despite all that they lost, those mages still sent as many as they possibly could to face the Archdemon, and all that they sent, perished. Once I learned that, I came to believe that… mages are not so different from my people. We have both lost so much because of the failures and hatreds of our own leaders, and the consequences of ignorance. I suppose I merely feel as though… they needed protecting, too.”

Cullen smiled down at his bread dough. “You would make a good Templar.”

“Minus the lyrium.”

“I mean-- well, yes, I suppose-- but I mean, you would make a _good_ Templar. What they were always supposed to be. A pity the order does not take elves.”

“A pity, perhaps. And also the requirement that we abandon our elven gods for Andrastianism. Though for me it’s all the _rules_ that are troubling. I’m not so good with rules.”

“Of _that_ , I am acutely aware.”

They both laughed, falling back into comfortable silence as they created loaf after loaf of bread, sliding them into the ovens and pulling out those that were completed. Finally, they had a long row of loaves arranged on the kitchen table, ready for distribution to the Inquisition’s forces, spies, visiting dignitaries. Just as dim sunlight began to peak through the edges of the closed door.

They hurried to clean it all up, to leave no trace that _they_ were the ones who had done all of this, for a reason neither could explain.

But finally it was certainly time to go-- Therilli could hear the fortress beginning to wake up.

“Well, we truly have not slept at all tonight,” Therilli commented, brushing as much flour from her night clothes as possible. “But… I am happy I joined you.”

“And I that you arrived. Oh, you have flour…”

His thumb brushed gently across her cheek, and she felt her whole body jolt under the touch, as if she had been hit with a storm spell.

The shock seemed to reach Cullen, too, for he quickly pulled his hand back, his face quickly reddening. “I… sorry. I should go.”

Therilli felt her own face grow warm, and she called after him, “yes, go get _some_ sleep before the morning patrols arrive to come bother you.”

“One night will not kill me,” he replied, grinning wryly.

She scowled. “So long as it remains _one_ night. Although _you_ seem to have no regard for your own health, _I_ will be most inconvenienced when my general becomes sick, or suddenly makes rash, foolish choices because his mind is so muddled by lack of sleep that it cannot function properly. How would I accomplish anything? No, it would not do. I need you in perfect health. That’s… that’s an _order_ , Commander Cullen.”

His smile remained, and he nodded. “Yes, Inquisitor.”

He began to turn away, but Therilli called after him again, “Oh, and one more thing, Commander?”

“Yes?”

“Do tell me next time you want to use the kitchen. I… enjoyed it.”

“As did I.” His voice had softened quite a bit, which seemed to surprise even himself. “Well… good night, Inquisitor. Or… I suppose, good morning.”

“And to you.”

And she watched him go from the kitchen door, still wonderfully, endearingly... 

Covered in flour.


End file.
